


Manipulation

by Inell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/M, Masturbation, Multi, Object Insertion, Perception isn't always reality, Portrait Sex, Post-Half-Blood Prince AU, Voyeurism, written in 2005
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:05:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4431134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Manipulation - n. exerting shrewd or devious influence especially for one's own advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manipulation

**Author's Note:**

> _Originally Posted: Jul 30, 2005_

"You’re late.”  
  
He watches her shut the door quietly, a flick of her wand lighting the candles floating around the room, her gaze on the floor. From his frame, he can practically taste the salty tears that he just knows are ready to fall from her beautiful brown eyes. When she dares to look up at him, he is rewarded with the vision of her fear and shame.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she stammers softly, displaying her weak Muggle blood in moments like this, disgusting him even as he finds himself even more fascinated with her. “Harry and Ron needed my help.”  
  
“You choose to be with two others when I expected you promptly at ten?” His voice does not hide his annoyance and jealousy. Harry and Ron. Two men he has never seen but whom she discusses with a slight smile and loving gaze. He loathes them for many reasons just on principle, their actually being alive and able to touch her in the ways he aches to is foremost on the list. She is fortunate that he knows she is his and would never allow them to touch her in those ways, or he would forbid her to have contact with the two boys who occupy so much of her time.  
  
“If I’d refused, they would have grown suspicious,” she says hesitantly, the fear in her eyes _almost_ alleviating his anger. “They might have followed me in here and found you, taken you from me. They wouldn’t understand, Regulus.”  
  
“You shall make up your tardiness to me, my beautiful whore,” he tells her firmly, pleased with the flush that crosses her cheeks at his insulting endearment. So predictable, this one, but special. Even with the mind of a seventeen year-old, he can recognize it. He was unsure how much time had passed since she had discovered his portrait in the darkest part of the attic, dusting him off and bringing him to this room. When he first saw her, looking shy and nervous, he wanted her. And Regulus _always_ gets what he wants.  
  
It had only take a few days for him to realize just how to pursue her. Insecure, intelligent, shy, and completely unaware of her natural beauty, she was a peach just waiting to be plucked. A few sincere compliments and a hint of flirting had drawn her to him. A few more had earned her trust. He was unable to leave this room, new wards making it impossible, but she entertained him. Reading books, discussing research, answering questions about her life.  
  
Within a week, he’d begun to formulate a plan. He would use her, of course, as his voice to barter information in exchange for life. It was the darkest of magics, but his Lord was powerful enough to wield them without concern. He knew of his betrayal, had been told by his living self along with information to pass along should Dumbledore ever ask. No one had ever asked, though, and he wasn’t bloody stupid. He may have eventually grown a conscious and been killed for it, but living is far better than rebelling, in his opinion.  
  
She is nearly ready. The past few weeks, she has become _his_ in every way but one, and he plans to take her in that way as soon as his body is once again alive and able. A fair trade, in his opinion. His life and his whore in exchange for information his Lord would require to remain in power. When she's gone from this room, he keeps himself calm with visions of tasting and feeling once again, breathing and living. He knows the texts needed, knows his Lord has the power to bring him back just as he is now with this handsome face and youthful body, his mind and memories up to this point intact.  
  
Deciding he has kept her waiting long enough, he smiles, a flash of teeth making him seem rather like a predator instead of a charming Pureblood. “Strip for me, pet.”  
  
He moves as close to the frame as possible, watching eagerly as her trembling fingers begin to unfasten the buttons of her shirt. One, two, three, a glimpse of creamy skin so smooth he can taste it on his tongue. Four, five, six, her breasts firm and round nearly spilling from the black lace he’d made her wear for him that morning. Seven, eight, nine, the soft swell of her stomach that he can effortlessly see covered in blood and come in his mind‘s eye.  
  
She shrugs the shirt off, carefully lying it across the back of a nearby chair. Always so careful and precise, his whore, never making a mess unless he forces her. He hears the low click of her zip lowering, her breasts thrust forward as she unfastens her skirt in back. Her nipples are hard, pressing against the lace as if enticing him to step from his frame and taste them. He licks his lips, eyes on the firm nubs, his voice halting her. “Pinch your nipple for me, whore. The left one that’s nearly so hard it’s ripping the lace away. Through your brassiere like the shameless little slut we know you are, that’s a dear girl.”  
  
His cock twitches as she looks at the floor, her body flushing with shame and sweat and arousal. Her thumb and forefinger twist her nipple, a soft inhalation of breath telling him she is enjoying the feel of rough lace against sensitive skin.  
  
“Stop,” he commands firmly, pleased when she obeys. She looks to him for direction, such a docile and eager young girl. He knew many like her at school, hiding behind books and sitting alone in class. They were the sweetest prey, though his whore has fire inside her, which makes it all the more enjoyable. He’s seen it, when she's sweaty and writhing on her sheets, body demanding more, passion making her disobey him. He keeps track of every infraction, knows exactly how many times he owes her punishment, and he can’t wait to collect.  
  
“Finish undressing, pet.”  
  
She nods, her curly brown hair falling across her shoulder, the ends brushing against her ribcage as she eases her skirt past the curves of her hips. Her body reminds him of paintings he once saw in Italy when his family was visiting cousins. Some Muggle, so he was unable to learn the artist’s name, but the women were beautiful, curvaceous, soft skin and round curves. She is like them. Breasts full but not too large, a hint of a belly, a gorgeous arse, and perfect hips. So womanly and wanton that he can’t wait to feel her curves, to grip her breasts as he moves his cock between them, bruise her hips as he fucks her hard, and come all over her belly until she’s covered with his spunk and scent.  
  
He watches as she picks up the skirt, displaying a gorgeous view of her cleavage as she bends over. The fabric of her knickers must be pulling tight across her firm arse, possibly resting between her arsecheeks, and he can see brown curls above her sex not contained by the scrap of lace he had her wear today. After her skirt is folded and put to the side, she looks at him with shining eyes, her body quivering from arousal.  
  
“Such a good pet,” he compliments, knowing he will be the envy of his Lord’s followers for having a responsive and submissive whore like her, one with intelligence and beauty as well as a body made for sin. Before he made his trade, he would have the guarantee of his Lord’s promise that she would be his, that they would be unharmed and no retaliation would be taken for what his older self had done years ago. His Lord was many things, but always a man of his word.  
  
“I am glad that you are pleased, Regulus,” she says demurely, his focus on her body so he misses the touch of irritation in her voice.  
  
It’s moments like these that he wants to forget that he is Regulus Argithon Black and simply behave like any other seventeen year-old faced with a delectable body to play with and control. “Pull your knickers to the side. I want to see how wet I make you, my whore.”  
  
Her fingers move down her stomach, lightly touching her upper thigh, nails causing the skin to turn pink before she tugs the crotch of her knickers to the side, baring herself to him. The candlelight casts a glow on her golden skin, makes the freckles across her nose and shoulders more noticeable, and it highlights the glistening juices he sees on her cunt. “You’re already so wet, you wicked slut. Were you wet while you helped those friends of yours? Knickers soaking just thinking about me, about what I do to you.”  
  
“Yes, Regulus. I was wet when I was with Harry and Ron. I wanted to spread my legs at the table and touch myself, just the way you like. They thought I was getting sick because I looked feverish, but it was because I saw the feather of Ron‘s quill and remembered moving it along my bare skin for you the other day.”  
  
“Move your finger into your cunt, whore,” he growls softly, hating that _they_ , those bastards she calls friends, have seen her face flushing with arousal. “Two of them, I think, to remind you that you’re mine.”  
  
“Always yours,” she replies immediately, letting two of her fingers slide into her wet warmth.  
  
He knows she is a virgin to men, watched her take her virginity for him with his old broom, riding the handle of his broom like a wanton whore, clutching and whining and bleeding just a bit as she rubbed her clit and moved up and down on the old wood he’d once considered his favorite possession. She licked it clean after, her eyes on his as she sucked and licked her own come from his broom.  
  
Since then, it’s taken her many times in the ways he wants to have her. Even been inside her arse making her beg him to let it stop and causing him to make her spell it so it moved harder and deeper, delighting in her way her arse clenched around it just as it would soon clench around his own cock. Blood dripping from her abused arse and down the back of her pale thighs was as beautiful a sight as any he’s ever seen.  
  
His hand moves down his body, unzipping his trousers and sliding into his shorts. He begins to wank as he watches her. “Go to the bed, pet. Take off your knickers and brassiere. No, don’t get rid of the knickers yet. I want you to lick them for me, taste yourself on the cotton. Do you taste good? Tell me how you taste.”  
  
Regulus is slowly stroking his cock as he watches her, groaning softly as she sticks her tongue out and lets it slide across the crotch of her damp knickers. “Bitter and salty, creamy, thick and warm, with just a hint of sweet,” she tells him dutifully before drawing the fabric into her mouth. He misses the way her eyes briefly dart to the corner but hears her soft moan of arousal.  
  
“Spread your legs for me, slut,” he demands petulantly, angry that he can’t taste or smell or feel. She does so after moving pillows behind her. She knows he likes to watch her face as she comes. Her arse is at the end of the bed. If he had a body, he could step forward and slide into her without resistance. As it is, his trousers fall around his knees, his free hand gripping the edge of his frame as he keeps stroking his cock. “Pull your knees up, just like that. God, you’re dripping with pre-come, you Mudblood whore.”  
  
There it is. The spark of anger in her eyes as her body tenses. He groans low in his throat, his hips moving forward into his palm. He can feel his body reacting, can remember what desire and arousal feel like, but it is just going through the motions. He gets hard and he comes but there’s never anything there, just empty space and four walls that keep him a prisoner of a past that once was but soon shall be once again. “Get your wand, pet. I want you to fuck yourself with it,” he tells her firmly, daring her to protest.  
  
Defiance is in her eyes for a moment before she looks away. He tightens his grip on his cock, loving the fire that she rarely lets him see. Instead of protesting, she says, “ _Accio_ wand.”  
  
Watching with glee as she moves the piece of wood she has no right to even own between her legs, he notes the way her wet lips cling to the wand as she slowly rubs it along the lips of her cunt. “Squeeze your breast for me, whore. Hard, rough, I want to see bruises when you’re done. Quit playing with the wand, thrust it inside that tight cunt of yours. It’s all you deserve to do with it, after all. Fuck yourself like the Mudblood whore you are, ride it like you rode my broom, slut. You like having it inside you, don’t you? Hard and unyielding, take more, damn it. I want to see it all inside.”  
  
He takes delight in the pain on her face as she tries to move more of her wand inside her, loving the humiliation of her fucking herself with it like this. She’s squeezing her breast hard, fingers nearly white from the grip, tugging her nipples, her body pressing down eagerly as her hand moves faster, twisting her wrist with each push forward. He listens to her soft gasps, the whimpers she makes as she takes more and more, the moans spilling from wet lips as she rides her wand.  
  
It’s not enough. He needs to know she’s ready for the next step, to know she is loyal and devoted to him. “Pull it out,” he says harshly, watching her look at him with a dazed expression. She pulls out the wand, her cunt swollen and wet, juices dripping from the smooth wood in her hand. “I want it in your arse, spelled to fuck you harder with every sound you make. Do it, whore.”  
  
She bites her bottom lip, hesitating for a moment before eventually prodding her tight arse with the handle of her wand. He watches her body tense as it begins to penetrate her, so wet she doesn’t have to prepare herself. “Such a slut, aren’t you, pet? Look at the way your arse is eating up your wand, wanting more, needing to be fucked so hard. What would your friends say if they saw you like this? When I’m back, I’m going to make them watch. I’ll tie them up and force them to watch me fuck you until you’re nothing but my come covered whore.”  
  
He laughs at the curious look she gives him, noting with pride that she doesn’t halt the thrusting of her wand into that perfect arse. “I told you I’d think of a way, pet. You’re going to help me, aren’t you, love? My Lord, he’ll do anything for a specific item I have in my possession, even bring me back to life and give you to me. It won’t be much longer until I’m the one fucking your arse, whore. Do you want my cock inside you?”  
  
“Yes, Regulus,” she moans huskily, her hand letting her wand go, tapping with her finger and gasping as it begins to move inside her, in and out, her thighs trembling as she angles her hips back so it reaches her arse easier.  
  
“Look at you,” he taunts, his hand moving faster. “Letting your wand fuck you hard and fast, about to come from having that wood thrusting into you. I want three fingers inside your cunt now, whore. If you’re a good girl, I might reward you. I’ll tell you how to find the locket and then we can contact my Lord. Would you like that, pet? Have me alive and inside you by the end of the month, if everything goes according to my plan.”  
  
Watching her fingers thrusting into her cunt, he fails to see her smug smile or the triumphant gleam in her eyes as she once again looks to the corner of the room. “A locket?” she stammers as she keeps moving her hand.  
  
“Mmm….” he moans as his hand squeezes his cock, unable to look away from her cunt and arse. “Such a beautiful whore. Do you like that, having your hand in your cunt and your wand in your arse? Yes, a locket. It will be the key to making all your dreams come true, pet. My Lord, he’ll want it so desperately he’ll even negotiate with my Mudblood whore. Tell me how it feels, how do you smell?”  
  
“The wand is so hard, it hurts as it thrusts into me, but it feels so good. As de Sade said, what is pleasure without a little pain?” She moans as her body presses down, arse nearly sliding off the bed, her hand moving faster as she strokes her cunt. “My fingers are wet, nails scraping delicately against the walls of my cunt every time my hand moves deeper. I can feel my muscles tighten around them, know I’m so close, just waiting for permission from you.”  
  
“The smell. How does it _smell_?” he asks desperately, tired of her halting speech, tempered with moans and whimpers.  
  
“Like sweat and sex and peaches,” she pants, her breasts arching forward as she begins to shudder.  
  
“I love peaches,” he whispers, able to remember the taste of sticky sweet on his tongue. “Come for me, whore. I want you to come now.”  
  
She obeys instantly, shaking and writhing on the bed, the wand gripped firmly in her arse as her arsehole clenches around it, toes curling against the sheets, her hips rising as she comes so hard he can practically feel it. He grunts as he comes, his hand stroking until he’s leaning against the frame, releasing his soft cock and placing his dry hand on the barrier separating him from her.  
  
As she gasps and trembles, he tells her about the locket, about his older self’s treachery of his Lord, about his plan to finally be free of this portrait and living once again. She’s so tired she’s napping, not even listening, but he doesn’t care. He tells her everything he has planned, so proud and smug, knowing his plan will be a success. She’s ready now, he knows. Loyal and devoted to no one but him.  
  
He watches her finally stir, giving him a beautiful sated smile. “May I take a shower, Regulus?”  
  
Nodding, he says, “Yes, pet. But don’t fuck yourself beneath the water. You’re only allowed to come where I can see.”  
  
She smiles as she puts on a robe and then walks closer. He sighs as her lips move against the barrier trapping him, his hand ghosting over them, wanting to touch so badly. “Soon,” he whispers, watching her leave before sitting on the sofa in his portrait, losing himself in thoughts of a future finally free of this prison.  
  
He can’t see her step into the hall and doesn’t notice the glimmer of the invisibility cloak following her from the room. He is unable to witness her being shoved against the wall, a freckled hand gripping her wrists above her head as the other pushes her robe to the side. He doesn’t watch the cloak fall away to reveal a flushed redhead who bites her neck as he thrusts into her so hard she hits the wall with a gasp. He’s not able to see green eyes watching her fucking the redhead, her legs wrapped around a trim waist as she begs for more, harder, faster, Ron.  
  
He has no idea her hand firmly wraps around another cock as she rides the one who was given her virginity before they even moved to this house to search for what was needed to destroy his Lord. He will never see the faces of her lovers as they come, one inside her and the other on her hand, nor the smug smile that crosses her lips once she is no longer shuddering in orgasm. He will never hear her repeating the information he gave her, never hear her saying her plan was a success, and never hear her whisper words of love and devotion to the two men to whom she is truly loyal. And he will never know that she looks at them both with the gentlest of smiles before saying three words he will never hear from her lips. “I love you.”  
  
The End


End file.
